


Sweet Like Candy, Burning Like Fever

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Blood, Episode: s03e04 Exodus (2), F/F, Femslash, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited, post-New Caprica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tory's got it bad, and that ain't good</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Like Candy, Burning Like Fever

She used to be her own person. Which, Tory knows, is the kind of thing every hopeless sap who's got it bad in that no-good way says. And usually they're lying.

But Tory doesn't have a string of girlfriends OR boyfriends who she trailed like a lovesick puppy, or a family background where mommy and daddy didn't give Tory the love she needed so now she trails the bestest mommy in the world. Tory was a political science graduate with a minor in statistics who dated sane and intelligent women. Tory had been considered very together, if a tiny bit boring and overly dedicated to her work.

Tory was not a stalker, a psycho, or any of the things that can be thrown at a single woman who is perhaps too into someone who does not return that attention. She doesn't fit the profile, she doesn't have the psychological issues that make stalking fun.

Hence, Tory should not be in her corner of privacy-free Colonial One, having the pathetic super-porn fantasy of frakking her boss on the desk. But she is, and it's hot, and she's getting herself off to it. It's not even an empowering fantasy. Tory is, in her fantasy, gratefully on her knees in front of Laura Roslin. Worshipping the woman of her dreams.

Not really that different from real life, except in her fantasies, Tory gets to be the one having wanton, raw sex with Laura.

"I would have your baby," the Tory in her own head is saying, her hands palming Laura's thighs. "I'd find a way. Anything you want."

In her half-fevered reality, Tory is wincing (gods, she has totally lost it), but it's hot, because in her fantasy, Laura is herself, but more so. Hyperrealistic, saturated with color, sheer sex. A little more power bubbling over her calm poise, approval as Tory kisses the inside of Laura's knee.

Tory used to be her own woman, but Laura hums some kind of approving desire, and Tory devours it, because she wants more. She wants to please Laura, to watch Laura be pleased with her.

But because bodies twist so nicely in fantasy, she's off her knees and in Laura's lap, grinding down against her dream woman. One of Laura's fingers is resting on her mouth, and Tory wants to bite down on it (the way she's biting on her own lip and gods damn it), naked breasts surging forward with lust.

Laura doesn't even have to say anything (and this is good, because Tory can't STOP herself from the dirty dirty fantasy, but she can at least stop herself from putting crappy sex talk in Laura's mouth), Tory just sucks that finger into her mouth and Laura smiles. Her other hand is moving down Tory's waist, cool and provocative, and Tory can't stop bucking her hips.

"Oh, please, please please, just let me..." and Tory's a sobbing mess, in her head and in reality, sweaty and flushed and happy to beg. "Anything. Anything you want."

It seems impossible, how Laura can be so beautiful with a mop of unruly red hair, and the dusty, awful refugee clothes they're all reduced to these days. But Laura's beautiful, and she's mysterious, and she takes Tory's hand and turns it palm up so they can both watch it shiver.

Presses the wrist to her mouth and gives the veins and paper-thin skin an open-mouthed kiss. The tip of Laura's tongue traces the skin there, and Tory _can't._ Can't breathe, can't speak, can't do anything but moan and grind, begging for release.

She wants to come like a tidal wave, give it all up and give up more, anything for Laura, Laura who is perfect and mysterious and dangerous and wise and whose mouth is on Tory's wrist, gods, just her tongue on Tory's skin and Tory's body is shuddering like she's been ridden hard and put away wet.

Tory has to say yes, has to form words (and she's has practically bitten through her lip, trying not to scream, she's that close) and give it up for Laura. Laura doesn't take what she's not given.

"yessss," Tory hisses out, trying not to scream, trying not to give it all away.

Laura bites.

Laura bites down hard, and the pain of it is breathtaking. Tory comes, can't stop coming at the thought of it (yes, this is possibly a problem, but it's only a fantasy), at how pretty the blood would be and how much it would hurt.

Oh yes. Oh yes yes yes.

Especially when ruby lips meet Tory's and Tory licks her own blood off Laura's mouth.

Yes.


End file.
